


Scarred Differences

by Demon_Kagetsuki



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Brief Description of Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Episode 69
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8458888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demon_Kagetsuki/pseuds/Demon_Kagetsuki
Summary: Percy's rest after his resurrection is not as peaceful as he would have hoped. After all, the dead don't dream but the living do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because who wouldn't have nightmares after they died?

            Percival had nightmares. It was just a given in his life at this point. Between all the trauma that the Briarwoods and Ripley had instilled in him through torture, his possession by Orthax, the constant stress of trying to keep his childhood home hidden from dragons, and the sheer terror he felt whenever one of his friends fell in combat, there was no shortage of events that his mind’s imagination could twist. And Percival’s clever, clever mind had a very good imagination.

            The night after his resurrection, the sheer exhaustion turned Percy’s mind into a yawning black cavern and as such, he had not taken the time to steel himself against what his imagination could conjure.

* * *

            At first, it was the usual. Memories of his torture at Ripley’s hand, the only new thing was the black smoke that poured from her mouth and eyes as Orthax swirled around her, the sickly white mask keeping a close eye over her shoulder and giving Anna advice as Percy screamed and tried to wrench himself out of the restraints that held him to the cold steel table. Blood slowly dripped to the floor as the metal buckles tore at his wrists.

            Suddenly, bleeding bruises covered his body and he felt as if every small injury he had ever received appeared at once. His body was sore and small beads of blood trickled down his head and into his eyes.

            ‘Well, that won’t do at all now will it,” Ripley purred as she gripped his hair, “Don’t want to mess up this pretty little body.”

            And for the first time, Ripley healed him. It wasn’t like Pike’s healing, the warmth of Sarenrae flowing through him as it sealed the hurt. It was cold, like the hand was dipped in ice water, the shock of it climbing through his veins like poison, making him shiver as it hit his core. His wounds were sealed, not leaving a single mark on him.

            The scene changed, Anna still over him as she brought a rapier across his torso. A spray of blood and a curl of smoke followed the blade and Percy fell backwards, hands coming up in a desperate attempt to stop the merciless flow of blood that stained his shirt and jacket. Then another cut appeared, then another, and soon Percy was bleeding from nearly every inch of his body. He felt like he was on fire, every cut stinging like alcohol had been poured over him, sharpening the pain infinitely.

            ‘Well, that won’t do at all now will it,” Ripley growled as she gripped his hair again, “Don’t want to mess up this pretty little body.”

            And for a second time, Anna healed him. This time it felt as if he had been dipped in acid, his skin bubbling and bursting as her dark spell raced over the crimson gaps on his body, sealing them tight, leaving no scars.

            The scene changed once again, this one all too familiar. He was back on Glintshore, staring down the barrel of Ripley’s gun. Her face was decorated with a twisted smile and a sadistic glint in her eyes as Orthax stretched out of her shadows.

            He barely felt it as the bullet ripped through his body. He fell and laid silent, the sound of Anna’s cackling laugh piercing his brain before everything went quiet with a choking gurgle.

            It was dark and there was pain. So much pain. His eyes fluttered open to find himself in an enclosed room. Before him he saw a massive stone table, a red cloth draped on it vaguely hiding the form of a humanoid and surrounded by a sigil of some kind. Red and white candle wax dripped from wrought-iron holders and the sound of steps echoed from behind him.

            He turned just in time to see a shape swoop past him, his heart nearly stopping as he saw the back of Delilah Briarwood as she walked to the table. She made a soft cooing sound as she stroked the cheek of the figure through the cloth.

            “I would burn the world down, so long as it keeps us together. Take any chance, pay any debt, make any pact. You know that don’t you darling?”

            The same feeling of ice he felt from Ripley’s healing pierced his heart as she said the last word. That wasn’t the voice of Lady Briarwood.

            The figure took the edge of the cloth and lowered it, uncovering the face lied beneath. Percy felt bile rise in his throat as he stared at an image of himself. He had always been pale but this figure was positively ashen.

            _“Is this what they saw when they-“_

            Percy’s thought was cut short as the figure leaned down and gave his prone body a gentle kiss. There was a moment of silence before he heard a _woosh_ of air fill the body’s lungs and caught sight of the fluttering of eyes. The figure sat up quickly looking around panicked before his icy-blue gaze turned to the woman before him.

            “H-how?” the now living figure stuttered, eyes wide.

            “I broke the world for us,” she responded, “ ** _I’m glad you’re back_**.”

            Percy felt a wave of nausea watching this. Isn’t this like what his friends had done?

            Pain blossomed from his heart and spread throughout his body. He looked down with a strangled gasp and saw wounds appearing across his body, old wounds and new wounds, ones he both remembered getting and forgotten. They healed almost as quickly, leaving no trace of scars or injuries behind.

            He looked up and nearly screamed as black eyes stared at him, the face of Delilah Briarwood mere inches away.

            “Tell me Percival,” Delilah’s face shifted, “all those injuries you survived. What scars should you have that have been healed away? Where is the testament to a life lived?

            Tell me how many times did you glimpse the afterlife? How many times have you missed those glimpses, slipping by on the love of your friends?”

            There was a knot in Percy’s throat and he felt like he couldn’t breath.

            “You killed me Percival, You've died. So tell me,” Delilah’s face rounded, her pale skin gaining color and eyes lightened to amber. Blue feathers nestled behind a pointed ear.

            “What makes us so different from them?” 

* * *

 

            Percy woke with a start, quickly covering his mouth before letting out a muffled scream as hot tears flowed from his eyes. He was still dressed in the same clothes that he had worn to Glintshore and in a flurry of painful, mad movement he took everything off. The ascot that had suddenly become too tight around his neck. The jacket, vest and white undershirt stained rust with dried blood and peppered with holes. Pants with hundreds of cuts where flying glass had shredded the fabric from the explosion.

            The panic and anxiety of his dream made his breaths quick and shallow, the creeping sensation of black spots in his eyes as his brain was being deprived of oxygen nearly sent him into an even deeper panic attack before a soft gentle voice in his head reminded him to breath. Taking a few gasping breaths, making sure to hold them in for at least three seconds before releasing it made him calm down slowly and focus.

            He glanced down to where he had been shot dead, his fingertips running across his chest and to his massive relief found puckered scars where hot iron had forced its way through his heart. Definitely healed faster than it should have but still there. His eyes slid to his arms, finding dozens of thin silvery trails where scalpels had found their way through his skin and marked him for life. Little healed nicks and cuts decorated his fingertips, a testament to his tinkering habits.

            Though the connection to his body was fuzzy from the Astral Sea, he was slowly catching and remembering glimpses of the resurrection.

            He was brought about by the love of his friends. His family. A deity who stood for everything good and warm in the world. People wanted him back. She wanted him back.

            Delilah and Vex’ahlia had wanted the same thing yes, but they took very different paths.

            He was not a dead man walking, a shell of what he used to be. Life blood rushed through his veins and air filled his lungs. He felt no pull towards evil, that feeling having disappeared after Keyleth had cut Orthax’s connection to him.

            He had lived. He _was_ living.

            And that is what made him different.


End file.
